


Hanging On

by Bob_The_Other_Zombie



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Canonical Character Death, Gen, Grief/Mourning, Horror
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-01
Updated: 2014-07-05
Packaged: 2018-01-07 02:06:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 7
Words: 6,726
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1114249
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bob_The_Other_Zombie/pseuds/Bob_The_Other_Zombie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It’s not Fred’s death that upsets George, it’s living the rest of his life without him. George stays in his and Fred’s old flat after Fred’s death, unable to face himself or his family again. But with ghosts and dark spirits creeping around the flat, he may not be as alone in there as he thinks…</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Fred was gone.

George sat alone at the small kitchen table in his and Fred’s flat, head in hands, contemplating the fact. Fred was gone. Fred was gone. Fred was gone. He repeated the words to himself for what felt like hours, trying to make them real in his mind. Dead he could believe, dead had been written and said and repeated over and over again until it had lost all meaning. But goneness, the actual physical absence of his brother for the rest of his life, that George could not begin to comprehend. He and Fred were a pair, always, Fred was his constant companion since birth, to fight and talk and prank and joke and laugh with. He couldn’t imagine life without him.

But it was more than that, more than the sheer incomprehensibility of Fred’s absence. Because Fred didn’t really feel gone. George still felt he was just around the corner, or out of the room somewhere, carrying on as he always had. Even in his memories, he couldn’t grasp onto any specific instant he spent with Fred- Fred would always have just left the conversation, or be a face in the crowd, or just a silent bystander, a part of George like his ear that he never took the time to notice or think about until it was gone.

And it wasn’t fair.

It wasn’t fair that he didn’t get to keep anything of Fred except the unsettling feeling that someone was missing.

It wasn’t fair that he should be teased by the feeling of his presence when he knew it was not possible, that it would never happen again.

It wasn’t fair that it was Fred who had to die, Fred’s life which was finite and fixed forever now. Fred was the funny one, the lively one, the one who came up with all of the schemes and dragged George, laughing, in his wake. If George had died, Fred would’ve been sad, he knew he would, but he would’ve found a way to cheer the rest of his family up, would have the strength to reopen the shop or visit his family again or even smile for Merlin’s sake.

George couldn’t do any of that. He couldn’t face any of his family when he knew they’d be thinking of one thing when they looked at him. When he knew he’d always unconsciously think of his family as a family of nine, and feel the hole where the ninth should’ve been. When he couldn’t even visit his house anymore. The flat was bad enough, but at least it was safe from well-meaning intruders and they hadn’t been living in it long enough for lasting memories.

George buried his face in his hands, feeling tears prickle behind his eyes at the thought of all the time they hadn’t spent living in this flat. Somehow they gave him a rush of self-loathing. He was stronger than this, he was an adult and had been for a while, he wasn’t just some angsty fifth-year. He was hurting his family more by staying away, he should just go to them. Maybe have a good cry, and things would start being all right again, just like in the stories.

And yet he couldn’t bring himself to walk out of his door. Because wouldn’t it hurt them more to see Fred crying than to not see Fred at all?

***

Fred was dead.

It was a most unusual feeling, being dead. It wasn’t at all like being a ghost, or at least what he imagined being a ghost was like. For one thing, ghosts were visible. They could move around freely and talk to each other and interact with people, and it was like they never died, except for the whole being-dead thing. For another, he didn’t feel any cold, unpleasant feeling when he passed through things. In fact, he didn’t feel anything at all. Fred still wasn’t convinced that he wasn’t just in a prolonged dream about his death, probably the product of some long-repressed feeling of inferiority or lust for Severus Snape. Who could say?

Either way, he wanted out. Being left alone with his thoughts had never been a good thing for him.

He hadn’t even realized it at first. He’d been rocked by the explosion, felt like he was puking and breaking and jolting away, and when he’d opened his eyes, he saw Percy, Harry, and Ron kneeling over a body identical to his own.

His first thought had been confusion and terror, because why had George been there? Silently, he had joined them, too upset to correct them when they called the corpse the wrong name, or to notice how their eyes slid past him and he couldn’t feel anything anymore-

(Probably just shock, his brain had told him, still in denial. Or was it his brain? Who even knew anymore?)

And then the Great Hall, when George had seen his body on the ground, and the look on his face, and that’s when Fred realized.

He remember shouting George’s name over and over again until his voice cracked as his brother ran to his body. He remembered wanting to comfort, and wanting comfort, as he saw around him his devastated family and the bodies of the other dead and Harry, Harry looking so brokenhearted at all that had been sacrificed to beat Voldemort and (in Harry’s thoughts) of all who had died for him…

But other than that, being dead was pretty great, thank you very much.

All it really needed was an instruction manual. For example, what was he and why wasn’t he a ghost or a poltergeist? And where was everyone else? Hundreds had died at the Battle of Hogwarts, where were Remus and Tonks and Colin and Lavender and, Merlin forbid, U-No-Poo himself?

More importantly, what was he supposed to be doing here, watch his brother suffer for all of eternity? Was this some kind of Hell?

(For, after the battle was over and the castle had been vacated temporarily while everyone went back to their families, Fred had floated around in the halls a little bit, trying to talk to Peeves and the ghosts and anyone else he came across to see if they heard. No one did. He spent a few fruitless days there before suddenly finding himself in his and George’s new flat, the one they’d moved to during the war to stay out of sight, watching his brother sit alone at the table. What had caused the change?)

"Death really needs some sort of guide." he muttered. As always when he spoke, he watched George, hoping for some kind of response, but there wasn’t any. George just sat at the table, wiping at his face, and suddenly Fred couldn’t bear it anymore. He was going to get some answers.

"Did you hear me, death? I asked for some help." he called loudly. Still no response, either from George or anyone else.

"Will someone please HELP ME?" he shouted. Silence. Frustrated, Fred turned to leave, and nearly ran into a stout, well-dressed man in a bowler hat.

Fred felt a jolt- for a moment, it seemed like the man was looking at him. He tried to push through the man in leave and instead connected with something very solid.

"Hello, Fred." said the man.


	2. Chapter 2

George spent a lot of time torturing himself by imaging where Fred was now. He didn't know why he still did it if it pained him- maybe if he figured out where Fred had gone, he would finally be able to accept Fred's absence, or maybe all his anger (grieving people were supposed to be angry, right?) had nowhere to go in the empty flat but at himself, or maybe it was some sort of twisted punishment for being the wrong twin to live. Because imagining where Fred could be did scare him, it scared him a lot, and offered no comfort or closure in return. Ghosts aside, no one really knew what happened when someone died, and even ghosts didn't know what happened if you chose to "go on". And there were a lot of nightmarish possibilities, if someone had the time and masochistic desire to think about them.

Fred could have just ceased to exist, that was the obvious one. Maybe all those who chose not to be ghosts were choosing their final death, lied to by popular myths and folklore about the afterlife. Or he could be somewhere unfathomable, a dimension completely out of George's reach, even after George himself died. Maybe humans all reached their own separate afterlives and never saw each other again, or you were grouped with those who had died at the same time as you. Or maybe the witch-burners had been right and Fred was in some sort of Hellish dimension, being tortured as George pretended being alive was hard. Maybe they were all there, Dumbledore and Remus and Tonks and Sirius and Colin and Alastor and his Uncles, and all of the people that had died in this war or any wizarding war...or maybe they were simply gone, no longer existing, and George himself and everyone he knew would join them in a few decades, forgotten under the crush of humanity and time.

In between contemplating death, George's time was mostly spent ignoring things. Ignoring bills, mostly, although he and Fred had a sizable amount of Galleons saved up from their work for the Ministry, but ignoring owls tapping on his window, too, and stubbornly refusing to light a fire in his fireplace, and then, eventually, letting the owls in to deliver their letter but shooing them out as soon as their job was done. He didn't read a single letter. He didn't think he could bear it. Not only all the sympathy and "I was sorry to hear about...he was a hero", but the guilt he was sure to get from reading his parent's letters, or Ron or Gin's.

In the process, George was pretty sure he missed Fred's funeral. The funeral of his own twin brother and best friend, and he missed it because he was too much of a coward to face his own family when they needed him.

Maybe he shouldn't have been a Gryffindor after all, he told himself whenever that particular train of thought came up. Maybe the only reason he was ever put in there was because of his family. He'd been sorted quickly, the Hat had barely touched his head- maybe it had seen one twin (the millionth in a long line of Gryffindor Weasleys) and assumed the other would be the same as his family.

George squeezed his eyes shut to prevent tears from falling, tears of self-pity and self-loathing, a waste when there was something else (something unselfish) he should be crying about. He should be focusing on someone other than himself, there were so many other people who were as bad or worse- Fred, obviously, and his entire family, and Angelina, Fred's girlfriend, and Lee who was probably as upset as George, and Harry who surely blamed himself, and Ginny who was barely of age and Ron who looked up to Fred, and Percy who spent his last years with Fred pretending he didn't exist, the list went on and on...and yet he stayed in his flat, too paralyzed to leave.

He wondered how long it would be before Mum would send a Howler.

***

"I'm surprised." said the man. "Most people in your position don't make it nearly as long before asking for help. But you actually managed to make it...ah..." He pulled out a golden pocket watch and peered at it. "...nearly two weeks."

"Two weeks?" Fred said. "You're mad, I didn't...the Battle of Hogwarts was a week ago!"

"First lesson of being dead." the man said. "Time moves differently for you than for them. Although I'm not surprised you hadn't noticed, your brother hasn't exactly been active." He gestured over at George who was now slumped over on the table, asleep.

"So who are you, then, the Grim Reaper? Are you going to take me to the big joke shop in the sky now?"

"You humans have called me Death before." the man said. "Although I am not the only one. And I will have the job of taking you away from here, eventually, into what you call the...'big joke shop in the sky.' And...I do not understand what you find so amusing."

Fred covered his mouth with his hand to stop himself from laughing. "I'm sorry, Death, it's just...the Grim Reaper wears a bowler hat and carries a pocket watch? You have to understand that's not exactly what I pictured. I gotta tell..." His eyes flicked over to George, and his mirth disappeared as reality set in. "Can I...can I talk to him?"

"No." Death said. "Or not yet. There may come a time when you will have to make a choice and at that point you may communicate in some form with your brother and others. But right now, no."

"Then why am I here?" Fred asked. "I can't do anything, I can't talk to anyone, I'm just waiting."

"It is your bond with your brother that keeps you here." Death said. "You two were so close to each other in life that neither has been able to let the other go. It sounds extraordinary, and it is, but it is not so rare as you might think. People have spent millennia as you are, particularly when the other member of the bond dies. Some choose to go on together if the one who died first still can at that point, some go alone without waiting for the one who's still alive, some stay together or alone and eventually become what you'd call poltergeists."

"But...what am I supposed to be doing?"

"Wait." Death said. "Wait until the time is right and then make your choice. And Fred...be careful. Remember there are consequences to everything you do, even now." With that, he vanished, leaving Fred even more confused.

"Should've known Death would be a cryptic cliché-talking git." he muttered.


	3. Chapter 3

Finally, George got a Howler. The message was something about missing him and did he know how upset everyone was and was he even thinking about Mum and everyone was grieving, not just him. George didn't hear the full version, only brief snatches between the time when the enchantment on the Howler broke through his Silencio and when he cast it again. What surprised him was that Mum hadn't sent the Howler. Gin had.

He almost smiled at the thought. Fred and he had really done something right with her.

Still, it didn't stop him from keeping his response as curt and off-putting as possible: Still alive, don't worry. Need some time. Stop writing. The letter only made his guilt and self-loathing worse. He wished Fred were here. He would surely know the right thing to say, or at least something that actually showed love or humor to his family, but George just needed more time.

More time to confront the unsettling feeling that Fred was still here. It was beyond his initial denial now- he felt like Fred was following him around the flat, watching him. It was sometimes comforting, but mostly scared George out of his mind. He thought he must be going mad, and the itch of Fred's presence wasn't helping any, but it wouldn't go away, either.

Fred, leave me alone. he thought. It's hard enough as it is.

He didn't say it aloud. He never said anything aloud. Yet.

And if Fred were here and some sort of ghost (maybe newer ghosts weren't visible?), George wasn't sure how to feel. There was some happiness, yes, but emotionally he was exhausted from the past several days, and he didn't want it to all be over nothing, and then there was also...disappointment. That Fred hadn't chosen to go on. At first, the thought of Fred as a ghost was just as painful as it was relieving, because surely George would grow old and die and go on and have to say goodbye all over again, but...would he rather go to the afterlife, or stay here with Fred, if it came to it?

And then, sometimes, there was the nagging thought that he could solve this all right now, go and join Fred before he had to face his family and the rest of his life without him, before he inevitably matured further than Fred and put distance between them. George shut down those thoughts quickly when they came. He may have been barely hanging on, but there'd been enough death for his family and his and Fred's friends already. Even if he wasn't a good enough person to help any of them, he couldn't hurt them like that.

Although sometimes he wondered if he wasn't hurting them more by still existing, by being a constant poor replacement for Fred.

He avoided mirrors even more now, both because of his appearance and the constant fear he'd see another face behind him. He also stayed in the kitchen and living room area, where he could see the whole room without turning his back on anything. Fred or not, the thought of ghosts in his flat still spooked him.

***

George wasn't the only one who was spooked. Fred had been noticing strange shapes at the edge of his vision, dark shadows that shifted around when he wasn't watching. Once, while in a bored stupor, he thought he saw a figure leaning over George, but he blinked and it was gone. Combined with George's awareness of Fred making him uneasy, and the never ending boredom, Fred was almost ready to call being a ghost quits and go to whatever was next. What would that mean, he wondered, where would he go?

"Fred." George said, and if Fred had been sitting rather than floating on the kitchen counter, he would've fallen off. George was saying his name and looking vaguely in his direction!

"George, can you hear me?" he said. He waved his hands, trying to get George's attention.

"Fred, I know you're there, mate, okay?" George said, and, to Fred's dismay, his gaze had shifted over to the doorway. "I- I miss you too, Fred, and I know you mean well, but you're driving me bonkers. So go- go wherever it is you go, or at least visit someone else for a while. Mum, maybe, she'll be mad I'm keeping you all to myself."

It felt good to share a laugh with his brother. Almost made Fred forget where he was for a moment.

"Look, it's just too tempting, okay? And I'm trying..." His voice cracked and he sat down on the couch, rubbing at his face. "I keep thinking of all these great pranks we could do, if the two of us were ghosts."

"Unusual." said Death's voice in his ear. Fred jumped, startled. The man had been watching the scene with a frown.

"What the hell is going on?" he snapped. "Why can he feel me?"

"I don't know. He shouldn't be able to." Death said. "What did he do?"

"Nothing, he's just been- talking." Fred said, still watching George. He wouldn't do anything rash, would he? And if he did...some niggling, guilty part of Fred whispered that maybe it wouldn't be so bad, after all.

"Hmm." Death said. "Perhaps it is the strength of your bond, then." The man turned to leave.

"Wait!" Fred said, suddenly remembering. "That's not all, I've been seeing weird shapes- figures- people but they're dark. What are they supposed to be?"

Death's eyes widened. "That...is not good."

"What do you mean, not good? That's a little vague. What are we talking here, indigestion bad or You-Know-Who bad?"

Death blinked at him. "You and your brother share an exceptional bond, it seems." he said. "One that is not only strong enough to keep you here, but also apparently to weaken the barriers between the living and the dead enough that he feels your presence. The shapes are others, other spirits, shades, the remains of ghosts and poltergeists after everyone they stayed for has left them, and they all greatly desire to be alive again. It could be that they are swarming this weakness, trying to find a way back."

"Back? You mean back to life?"

"You are correct," Death said, and then, as if reading his mind, "but coming back this way is very inadvisable. While you may be a harmless spirit, the ones you see are corrupt, twisted beyond recognition. They would only use their second chance to bring destruction on this world. If you think your Lord Voldemort was bad, imagine millions stronger and more wicked than him. Even ferrying one harmless spirit through the barrier could be enough to bring the whole thing down."

Fred, absurdly, wanted to say "It's not fair", like he was a First-year or something. Instead, he swallowed the words, and asked, "Why can't they just bust through?"

"They lack a bond to someone here on Earth. You and George are the connection, your bond is weakening the barrier. Again, this is an extraordinary case, but it has happened before. And I will tell you that not a single pair, no matter how close, has chosen to risk letting the shades through so they can be alive together again."

"I- I understand." Fred said, and Death disappeared.

"Fred?"

Fred turned- George was searching for him with his eyes, as if trying to see if he was still there or not.

Fred swallowed hard, taking a long, last good look, and then left the room.


	4. Chapter 4

It only took another few days for George to crack. Once he received the necessary materials by owl post, he made his way into the bathroom, wincing as he usually did at the sight of his face.

His one sided conversations with Fred had gotten more frequent in the past week, although he felt Fred's presence a lot less strongly than his first conversation with him. Still, it was nice to have some companionship, especially from someone who couldn't say anything to make him feel guilty or more upset. Right now, he imagined Fred following him into the room, looking concerned.

"Don't worry, I'm not doing anything stupid." he called over his shoulder.

The Fred in his mind seemed relieved, before asking what he was doing with a razor and scissors in the bathroom, then.

"I'm just...making a change." he said, and lifted the scissors to his hair.

When he was done, he stared at his reflection. Still the same face, but it looked different under the absolute mess he'd made of his hair with the scissors and the razor. He had wished he'd known a haircutting spell, but now that it was done, he was glad he'd done it by hand. It made him feel like he was looking at George, not at Fred's twin. He managed a small, satisfied smile.

Yeah, I know, Fred, this'll get me all the ladies, won't it. he thought. Katie Bell will be falling all over herself for me.

Only if you use a Jelly-legs Jinx. Fred replied.

"Just wait til you see the rest." George said. He pulled out the next item, read the instructions on the back, and got to work. It didn't take long before his hair was an awful, putrid shade of yellowy green.

Green isn't really your color, Forge. Fred said.

"Yeah, I know, green is a horrible color for me." George said. "But who needs Katie Bell, anyways?" He forced a smile at his reflection.

***

Fred stared in shock at George. Although he'd been trying to stay away from him as much as was possible for the past week, he had followed George into the bathroom, a little worried that George was going to do something stupid...and George had reassured him after Fred had told him firmly not to do whatever crazy idea was on his mind. Fred had made a few more remarks, half-hoping and half-afraid, but George hadn't responded to anything until Fred had told him green wasn't really his color. One response might be a coincidence, but twice?

"George?" he said. "Seriously, if you can hear me, stop messing around, I want to know."

George didn't respond, instead turning his head from side to side in the mirror, inspecting it from different angles. Behind his reflection, Fred could see more of the shadowy figures, closing in around George as if their short exchanges had strengthened them. One of them loomed over George , reaching out its hands as if it were about to touch him...

"Stay away from him!" Fred said. He shoved at the area where the shade was in the mirror, but he might have been trying to shove fog out of the way for all the good it did him. Desperate, Fred pulled out his phantom wand and began casting whatever spells he could think of. "Diffindo, Riddikulus, Expelliarmus, uh, Expecto Patronum!"

His Patronus was nowhere near corporeal, barely more than a mist of light. Strangely, though, it did the trick. Fred relaxed as the creatures backed away from George, some disappearing entirely.

And then he saw George's pale, shocked face in the mirror. What had he seen? "Oh, George, I'm sorry." Fred said.

George stood up and ran from the room.


	5. Chapter 5

It had been nearly forty-eight hours since George had seen that- that whatever it was in his mirror, the weird light that had no business being there- when he was awoken by a pounding on his door.

"George Weasley!" a woman shouted. Angelina, George thought, he had nearly forgotten what her voice sounded like. "Open this door, right now!"

George stayed where he was. Angelina could leave a note if she wanted to talk. He heard her cursing, and then she whispered a word to the keyhole- dammit, Fred had taught her the password- and the door banged open. Angelina strode in, fury evident in every part of her body.

George considered getting up off the couch, but she could see him from where she was, and she was the one who barged into his flat, after all. "Oh hey, Ang, didn't hear you out there." he said.

"George Weasley, do you know how long it has been?" Angelina snapped, pulling him roughly to his feet. "Four weeks, and no one's heard anything from you except some horrid note. Do you know how worried we've all been, or do you just not care because you're too busy feeling sorry for yourself? And-" She looked him up and down. "What in the name of Merlin happened to your hair?"

"Felt like a change." George said, voice squeaking from disuse and the lump in his throat. He coughed to clear it. "Green's supposed to be a lucky color, isn't it?"

"You-" Angelina took in his flat, and suddenly George saw it through her eyes- trash everywhere, half-eaten meals, his and Fred's things scattered all over the place. "What have you been doing?"

"Oh, there was this trip to Romania, very thrilling-"

"George." Angelina said.

"What do you want me to say, Ang?" George said. "I've been- I've been here. I couldn't look in the mirror anymore, so I-" He pointed at his hair. "You know, because the missing ear already made me such a handsome man." He forced a smile, but it felt stiff and frozen on his face.

Angelina regarded him for a minute, eyebrow raised, and something in her gaze made George quite eager to be alone again. "Well, now you've visited," he said, "and you can leave and tell them all I'm alive and green. So, um, thanks for coming over-"

"George, I'm not leaving." Angelina said. She turned, hands on hips, to look at the rest of the room. "First things first, we're going to get you out of here and back to your family. Then we're going to clean up around here."

"What? No, there's, there's nothing wrong with it-"

"You're a mess, George!" Angelina said, picking up a plate and dumping its contents into the trash can. "You're half starved, and sleep deprived, your place is a mess, your hair is green and- whatever that cut is, your shop has been closed for over a month, and have you even left the apartment or talked to anyone in all that time?"

George didn't answer, knowing his face would betray him.

"So I'm going to take you back to your family right now. And then we can work on getting this mess straightened up."

"Angelina, no, please." George said. "I can't- I can't go back to them yet. Please."

Angelina's gaze softened. "Fine." she said. "But we're still cleaning this place up. And I'm staying with you tonight, too, I'm not going to leave you alone again. I'll just take the couch...or...actually, no, it's mess. You get the couch tonight."

***

To be honest, Fred was more than a little relieved to see Angelina in his flat, and not just because she was his girlfriend. The wraiths still stayed close to George (he had to time his Patronuses just right so George wouldn't see them) but they seemed to be weakening. Fred tried not to think too much about why that was, that his and George's bond was weakening.

Horribly, he feared the moment when George would let go, even as he watched George slowly go insane by hanging on to him. He didn't want to say goodbye to his brother anymore than his brother wanted to say goodbye to him. This...half-life or whatever it was might be alternately boring and terrifying, but it was better than leaving George. If he did stay, however, what would he do, watch George grow old and die? George might join him, but he also might not, and Fred would be alone forever until he became little more than the wraiths. And to tell the truth, Fred didn't want George to give up his chance at the afterlife just because Fred was too scared to.

None of which made it easier to accept his coming departure.

He wandered the flat restlessly at night as George and Angelina slept, obsessively returning to George's bedside (Angelina had taken the couch after all) every few minutes to watch his brother toss and turn in his sleep. Fred wondered what he was dreaming about, and for a moment, resting his hand on his brother's, he felt George's skin.

***

George woke up suddenly from a dream about Fred to the feeling of someone touching his hand. He sat up straight- there was no one in the room. "Fred? Is that you?"

Suddenly, the shadows began shifting around him, and he saw figures in them, figures moving towards him, and heard a familiar voice saying, "Oh, no, no, no, no, no, no-"


	6. Chapter 6

"No, no, no, no, no!" Fred breathed as he watched the shadows resurge. "Expecto Patronum! Expecto Patronum! EXPECTO PATRONUM! No, no, stay away from him!" One of the shadows pressed right up against George like it was about to embrace him, and suddenly it hit Fred why they had been following George around this whole time- George was the gap in the barrier. If they possessed him, if they kicked his spirit out of his body and took it over, then they would be able to use it to find other people to possess and live again. "Expecto Patronum!" The one leaning over George disappeared, but more replaced it, obscuring George in a black haze, and through it all Fred nearly started crying because all he could think about for his happy thought was that maybe he would finally be able to talk to George again-

And then Death spoke a spell Fred had never heard before, and a blinding light filled the room, wiping away all trace of the shades. George lay in bed, sleeping peacefully. "I was going to let this case run its course naturally," said Death, "but it seems things have escalated too far. Come with me, now."

"But I thought you said I got a choice!" Fred said.

"Yes, in normal circumstances, you do." said Death. "Your bond to your brother is too strong for that. More than that, you see how your presence affects him. You are close to driving him mad. He will be better off with you gone."

"Won't he forget about me over time anyways if I stayed?" asked Fred.

"Hard to say." said Death. "They never truly seem to forget their loved ones, even in the most extreme of circumstances. Days, weeks, years may go by without a thought of you but you will still be there, a part of them. And your continued presence may make him think of you more frequently, keep him from forgetting and moving on. Or maybe not, maybe things would get easier for him eventually. The shades may stay away, or they may return and try again. I cannot say for sure. Either way, your brother has a long road ahead of him, and you, Fred Weasley, have a choice to make. So- will you come with me or stay here?"

Fred watched his brother on the bed. It occurred to him that this was the first time he'd seen him sleeping peacefully since his death. "What did you do to him?" he asked.

"A simple trick." said Death. "To make him think of all this as a dream, and to help him sleep, for a few hours."

"If I- if I wanted to speak to him, one more time, could you make him think it was a dream? And keep the creepies away?"

Death nodded, and suddenly George sat up in bed. "Fred?" he said.

"Hey, holey, look who's a saint now?" Fred said, and it was so nice to be seen and heard for once that he nearly forgot his resolve.

George laughed despite himself. "All the death-related humor at your disposal, and you make fun of my ear?"

"Come on, it's not like you have one to make fun of." Fred said. "Or I guess you do have one, but only one. You really shouldn't have gotten that haircut, mate, it makes it pretty obvious. Katie Bell will never go for you now. Plus green's not-"

"-really my color, I know." George said. "But I figured, now that you're a corpse, I pretty much won the contest of looks by default, so might as well go wild." He winced. "Oh, that was-"

"-a little too far, yes." Fred said. "Insulting a dead man's looks? Like I haven't got better things to do than care, you know, like watching you sit on your arse and wreck the flat."

"So you are still here." George said, tone suddenly serious. "What are you doing that for?"

Fred shrugged. "I don't know, I had a conversation with the Grim Reaper himself- you'd like him, by the way, he dresses like Fudge and has no sense of humor- and he said something about bonds and brothers. But I think I'm going to move on now, I'm getting a little bored here."

"Really?" George asked.

At George's tone, Fred's smile started slipping. "Yeah, what, you think I'm gonna sit here and watch you mope forever? No, I've got a heavenly reward to get to. Maybe I'll find Gideon and Fabian up there, or the Marauders, you can think about that while you're stuck down-"

"Don't go." George said.

Fred rubbed furiously at his eyes. "Dammit, Forge, this is already hard enough without your sobbing like a girl all over the place."

"I'm not the one who's sobbing, Gred."

Fred forced his smile back on his face. "Yes, why is that? I'm saying goodbye to you, you should be bawling. Look, just give my love to Mum and Dad and Bill and Charlie and Gin and Ron and Harry and Lee and Ang and Hermione and even Percy and all that. I don't think I'll get to talk to them, so, that's that. And keep the shop going, for Merlin's sake, I worked hard on that thing. Oh yeah, and one more thing." He jerked a thumb in the direction of sleeping Angelina. "If you let anyone marry her, I will kill them and you in the afterlife, okay?

George smiled, looking a bit teary now. "Don't worry, I'll send her to a nunnery first thing in the morning."

"Good." said Fred. "So, I'll be going now. See you soon, but not too soon, okay?"

George nodded. "Goodbye, Fred."

"Bye, George." Fred said, relishing in their last smile together, and then Death took him by the arm and he was gone.

***

George awoke the next morning from a strange dream, one that left him feeling more calm than he had in days. He inhaled deeply and made his way into the living room.

Angelina was already up, shifting through some of his things with a half-eaten breakfast pastry in her mouth. "Where did you even get all this junk?" she said, holding up a contraption that looked like a cross between a small catapult and an especially ornate wand.

"Joke item ideas that didn't pan out." George said. "Look, Angelina, I...could you come with me for a second?" He held out his hand.

Angelina took it, looking confused. "Where are we going?"

"Out." George said. She quickly finished her pastry, and together, they walked over to the door. George took a deep breath, looked at Angelina, and pulled it open.

Then, hanging on tightly to her hand, he crossed the threshold.


	7. Epilogue

Fred visited Earth only a few more times.

Death explained to him that this could happen to anyone, even after they'd gone on- when their loved ones were thinking of them most strongly, they would be called back down to Earth, invisibly and only for a few hours. The first time this happened, George was hosting a grand reopening of the shop.

It had taken George a while, Fred thought as he flitted through the shelves. He supposed getting your life back together after a month of nothing could do that, as well as the mountain of favors he was now doing for his family to try and assuage his guilt. Plus there was the fact that the store just hadn't been in very good shape after the war, and four weeks of neglect had done nothing to help things.

He checked out all of the new products (some of which surpassed even Fred's wildest ideas). He also checked up on all of his family and close friends because George, the selfish git, hadn't gone near enough to them for Fred to see them before he'd gone to the afterlife. They all seemed to be doing a little better than when they'd been crying over his body at Hogwarts (although, after that, almost anything was doing better). They weren't happy by any means, but still, better.

George managed a few laughs, one of which was close to his old laugh before the war, and a couple halfway decent jokes. He also, when Fred followed him into the storeroom, looked around as though he could sense Fred, but seemed to brush it off as nothing.

The next few visits were all the expected ones, birthdays and holidays and special occasions and the anniversary and his birthday. As years went by, they got less and less frequent, his family looking less and less haggard every time he saw them, until finally he visited George and Angelina on the first day in the life of their newborn son.

"I told him I would kill him for this." Fred said as he watched George and Angelina together with their baby boy. For a moment, he felt a bit of regret tugging him back to George and to Earth, for the family he would never have.

"What's his name?" asked the nurse.

George and Angelina looked at each other, smiling sappy, goopy, contented smiles. Some of Fred's regret faded, and with it, he felt a loosening, something lightening in his spirit until he could barely hang on to Earth anymore.

"Fred." George said. "His name is Fred."

And Fred let go.


End file.
